


Partners

by acidpop25



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Partnership, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:06:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidpop25/pseuds/acidpop25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur, Ariadne, and Eames are partners– in every sense of the term.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Partners

Arthur returns home– his _real_ home, not the temporary apartments they hide out at between jobs– to find a mess of cardboard pieces spread out across the living room floor. Ariadne is lying on her stomach with a pair of headphones on, staring thoughtfully at the half-constructed model of a dreamscape maze that sits in front of her. It's not an unusual occurrence; Arthur picks his way around her work with careful steps and does not interrupt her, heading for the bedroom. It's partly to delay distracting her– when Ariadne is engrossed in a design, she doesn't like being interrupted– but mostly to shrug out of his suit coat and take off his shoes. He's cuffing his sleeves up at the elbow when Eames appears in the doorway, watching with heavy-lidded eyes.

"You could just keep taking things off, I wouldn't mind."

"I know you wouldn't," Arthur agrees, and half-considers the notion before laying it aside. "I think I need dinner first, though. Have we got anything?"

"I was waiting for you to show before I started cooking," Eames answers, sliding his arms around Arthur's waist when he steps close enough. "Stir fry sound all right? If not we're ordering in, I'm in the mood for quick and easy."

"What else is new," Arthur murmurs, no longer talking about food, and slides a hand into the back pocket of Eames' well-worn jeans. Eames makes a low noise in his throat and cants his hips to meet Arthur's.

"You _sure_ dinner can't wait a little longer?" Eames murmurs against Arthur's lips in his most enticing tone. Arthur's eyelids flutter briefly and his usual stiff posture goes looser, and for a moment Eames thinks he's won. Then Arthur sighs and straightens, though he favors Eames with a long, deep kiss.

"I'm sure," he says, though he does at least sound like he hates to say it. Eames heaves a put-upon sigh.

"Have it your way, then. But you get to be the one to interrupt Ariadne."

"I will."

Eames smacks Arthur's ass playfully as they leave the bedroom, and Arthur's lips twitch into a tiny smile. Eames disappears into the kitchen; Arthur can hear the familiar, comforting white noise of his puttering around, chopping things and pulling pans and dishes from the cupboards. Arthur, for his part, kneels next to Ariadne on the floor and gently taps her shoulder. She waves him off silently and impatiently, absorbed in tinkering minutely with a wall of the maze, and it is only when she is satisfied with the angle that she takes off her headphones.

"Sorry," she says, but Arthur just kisses her cheek.

"No need to apologize. I hate to interrupt, but dinner will be up soon."

"Cool, I'm starved," she says, and tilts her head. The telltale sizzle of frying drifts from the other room, and Ariadne inhales deeply. "Ooh, I smell soy sauce. Stir fry night?"

"Mhm. I hope he skips the water chestnuts."

"I _like_ water chestnuts. You can just pick them out, you know."

Arthur looks at her, uncomprehending. "But they've _been_ there."

"You," Ariadne informs him, "are insane."

"Dinner, pets!" Eames calls, and they pick their way over Ariadne's work to get to the kitchen sliding into their habitual seats around the table.

"Looks great," Ariadne says, and begins wolfing her food down. She's a tiny little thing, but she always eats like she's twice her size, and her metabolism burns food away almost as quickly as she consumes it, it seems. The two men eat more slowly, and Arthur outlines the job he's found for them between bites.

"It's a local grab-and-go," he explains, "but the catch is that my research hasn't turned up nearly as much as I'd like about the mark."

"So we could be walking into a militarized subconscious," Eames finishes for him, and Arthur nods, chewing a bite of chicken.

"Which is why we have to go in ready for pretty much anything," Arthur says once he's swallowed. "Ari, think you can have that maze you've been playing with ready in two days?"

"Sure thing, boss," she says, her tone a little flippant. He may informally lead their team, now, playing the double role of point man and extractor, but he's still her lover, too.

Arthur just smiles.

* * *

Eames is a pretty brunette for this job, tall and willowy with huge brown doe-eyes; Ariadne suspects the color, that perfect chocolate shade, is actually taken from Arthur, but she doesn't comment on it. She is sitting alone at one of the tables in the coffee shop, holding a newspaper so as not to look out of place. In reality, though, she is keeping an eye on Eames via the reflective glass of the windows, watching him charm his way up to the mark at the counter. It seems to be working– the man is smiling at Eames, chatting her up as they wait in line for their drinks. That the line is so long is a help to their stalling game– if they can keep the mark away from the bank down the street long enough for Arthur to break into the vault for their information, they might yet slip in and out without triggering any defenses. The perfect crime.

Eames has ordered some sort of frothy coffee drink with a cloud of whipped cream on top that clings to the brunette's lush lips when she drinks. The mark is staring in undisguised lust, and Eames smiles coyly and slowly licks it off. Even in the reflection, Ariadne can see the mark's adam's apple bob as he swallows. Ariadne fights the nearly overwhelming urge to roll her eyes; it's a good thing this is a dream. That kind of over-the-top trick works perfectly well in fantasy; in reality, as far as she's concerned, it just makes you look desperate for attention. Though Eames does, unfailingly, forge very hot women.

The door swings open, and Arthur joins her at her table. He looks slightly ruffled, the only hint that he's just been breaking into a bank, and Ariadne hands him a section of her newspaper to hide behind.

"Got it?" she murmurs, glancing at him just long enough to see his faint nod.

"I wasn't seen." Arthur glances at his watch. "Five minutes 'til the kick."

When the familiar strains of Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien wake them, Arthur looks exceptionally pleased with himself. "I'll go deliver the information," he says to Eames and Ariadne, "you two get clear of the mark and meet me back home."

Araidne is the first one back, humming contentedly to herself as she drifts to the kitchen for a snack. Eames finds her shortly thereafter sitting on the counter, bare feet swinging, munching on an apple.

"Good job today," she greets him, "every man's fantasy."

Eames smirks at her. "Always am, pet," he replies, and kisses her neck. "Every woman's, too."

She is laughing as he pulls away to get a beer out of the fridge, but when he's close enough she wraps her legs loosely around his waist anyway, crossing her ankles to pen him in. They stay like that in companionable quiet, eating and drinking, until Eames sets his empty bottle aside and Ariadne leans around him to throw her apple core into the trash.

"C'mere," Eames says, and picks her up off the counter and carries her to the bedroom. Ariadne wraps her arms around his shoulders and tightens the hold of her legs, although she knows that Eames can lift her without trouble.

"Shouldn't we wait for Arthur?" she asks as he deposits her in the center of the bed, and Eames grins and shucks his shirt.

"I think we can take a _little_ head start," he answers, crawling toward her, and Ariadne grins and tugs him down for a long, deep kiss. She and Eames are both down to just underwear when they hear the sound of the front door, and Ariadne giggles to herself and bites at Eames' shoulder to smother the sound.

"Not fair," Arthur says upon entering the room and catching sight of them. "All that work, and you're going to leave me out of the fun?"

"Just keeping busy while we waited for you, darling," Eames replies, grinning at him. Arthur raises an eyebrow and begins stripping off his clothes slowly, methodically. Jacket first, then waistcoat, then starched white shirt. Shoes, socks, slacks. All are laid neatly aside, both Eames and Ariadne staring at him in want, and Arthur smiles slightly and climbs into bed with them.

"I keep telling you," Eames says, "you look good in your suits, but you look even _better_ out of them."

Arthur chuckles, and Ariadne kisses his dimple, nuzzles at his neck. "I think you should get middle tonight, after a heist like that. Positive reinforcement."

"It _was_ rather perfect," Arthur agrees, "didn't even have to shoot any projections."

"Too bad. I could've used some fun," Eames remarks, but Arthur doesn't bother to retort because Eames is tugging off Arthur's briefs, and Ariadne is undressing Eames, and so Arthur just twists and pulls her panties down her legs and kisses her. He feels Eames move and Ariadne shift, and suddenly she is moaning into Arthur's mouth. Arthur opens his eyes to see that Eames has his head between her legs, one hand stroking up her tensing thigh. Ariadne collapses on to her back and spreads her legs wider, and Arthur starts kissing down her neck, her collarbones, her breasts, sucking bruises on pale skin and teasing her nipples into tight nubs with lips and tongue. Ariadne has one hand in his hair, the other fisted tightly in the sheets, and soon she's making the soft, panting little _ah, ah_ noises that mean Eames is doing something really, really right. Ariadne is the quietest of them when she comes, soft sounds going high-pitched and then breaking off into silence, her mouth falling open and her spine arching impossibly off the bed, fingers clutching at whatever she's grabbed before she goes limp again and smiles.

Eames lifts his head. "All right, pet?"

"Mm, better than all right," she murmurs between breaths still coming too fast. Eames' lips are slick and shiny, and Arthur pulls him in and licks, then kisses, tasting Ariadne on Eames' sinful mouth. Ariadne lets out a low whimper, and Arthur rubs up against Eames with a low noise in his throat, slender fingers digging into muscled arms and back. Eames grabs Arthur by the hips and thrusts up against him, murmuring filth in his ear until Arthur is squirming desperately against him and Ariadne is watching in glassy-eyed lust.

"Arthur," she says, "Arthur, come here."

Arthur can barely tear himself away, but a gentle push from Eames and a pull from Ariadne finds him between her legs, and Ariadne surges up to kiss him and wrap her legs around his waist. He groans softly as he slides into her slick heat, and Ariadne's head falls back on the pillow, exposing the irresistible pale line of her neck. _It's a good thing she wears scarves_ , Arthur thinks hazily, teeth grazing a line of marks as he thrusts. He hears the sounds of Eames rummaging in the nightstand, and then strong hands are on him, a slick finger teasing at the cleft of his ass. Arthur's rhythm stutters.

"Eames," he says, pushing back, and Eames chuckles throatily and pushes it the rest of the way in.

"Don't mind me, darling."

"Easier said than done."

Arthur just _knows_ Eames is smirking, but he doesn't care, especially since he can tell by Eames' hurry and his harsh breath that he's every bit as turned on as Arthur.

"Would you boys hurry up?" Ariadne demands, arching her hips up just as Eames withdraws his fingers and sheaths himself in Arthur with one deep thrust. Arthur's eyes squeeze shut and he moans raggedly against Ariadne's throat at the sensory overload. It takes him a moment to get enough of a grip to find a rhythm, thrusting into Ariadne and then pushing back against Eames, and it's all too much, too much.

"Not going to last," he pants harshly, and Ariadne whimpers and clenches tighter around his cock. Arthur feels her fingernails dig into his back and hears Eames hiss out a breath right before thrusting hard at an angle that makes Arthur see stars.

It doesn't take long for any of them. Ariadne, still sensitive from Eames' tongue, comes first, arching and clenching, and it's all more than he can take. Arthur's moan is almost a scream, ecstasy so intense it looks like pain before he slumps against Ariadne, his face buried in her hair. He is spent and almost dizzy as Eames swears above him with a final rough thrust.

"Heavy," Ariadne finally protests lazily, and Arthur lets out a breath as Eames slides out and shifts off of him, and Arthur moves and settles between them, heedless of the sticky trickle between his thighs.

"You look completely debauched," Eames murmurs to Arthur, slinging an arm around his waist. All three are covered in sweat, and even Arthur's perfect hair is a mess.

"I am," Arthur agrees. Ariadne snuggles up to his side with a lazy smile and rests her head on his shoulder.

"'m tired," she mumbles, "stop talking."

Eames reaches over and flips the light switch. "Goodnight, loves," he murmurs, and the room is silent but for the sound of their breaths.


End file.
